Lower Your Ghostly Sword
by aphshan31
Summary: The nations discover an ancient castle in England. While exploring, they face some spectres that they truly did not expect. Contains numerous ships / character death / gore and violence / occasional swears
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: A Medieval Discovery**

"Dudes! You've gotta' check this out!" America rushed into the living room of England's country house, holding his laptop. His sapphire eyes sparkled brightly with childish excitement. The other Allies looked up at the golden-haired male, mixed emotions of annoyance, irritation and intrigue spread across their faces.

Britain spoke up, setting his fine china teacup onto his cherry wood coffee table; his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What is it?"

The boisterous American hopped onto the couch beside the emerald eyed Briton, "In this super small country, historians discovered a castle that appears to date back to the 1400s! It seems to be fully constructed with very little signs of wear!" England and France glanced to the laptop screen; but the Frenchman appeared to have a look of doubt on his face.

"I doubt it's still in a good state. After all, it is nearly six hundred years old," but he was cut off by England grabbing him by the neck and tackling him to the floor.

"Listen frog-face! The only reason you don't want to believe this story, despite seeing the article on America's laptop, is because this castle in _my_ country!" England growled; the Frenchman's face began to turn blue from the lack of oxygen.

America gasped, setting his laptop aside, and pulling the Briton off France with ease, despite him kicking and screaming like a child.

China tapped his finger against his chin in thought. "France has a point though… how could a place of near-six hundred years be so well preserved. It doesn't make any sense." His lips quirked to the side as he twirled the end of his ponytail around his finger.

A chilling chuckle echoed through the room, the Allies turned to see Russia fiddling with the end of his pastel pink scarf. "Maybe the dark ghosts of England have restored it over the years~?" His violet irises seemed to glow with delight, causing the Baltic Trio to tremble beside him; excluding Poland who sat on Lithuania's lap, braiding a small part of his hair with a pout on his face.

"Anyway, where did the article say this castle was?" England turned back to the American.

"Hmm… I can't exactly pronounce it; but hey you're England so you'd know where it is right?!" He laughed brightly, his lips curled into a goofy smile.

The Briton responded with a sigh and a scowl. He walked back to the laptop, his eyes scanning the page until he found the place name. "Ah… Bedfordshire. Honestly America, you can pronounce Massachusetts yet you cannot pronounce this?" He rubbed his temples, trying to prevent a migraine; what was he going to do with him?

"Ah okay, I get it! Thanks Britain dude!" He stood proudly with his hands on his hips, "Though, as the hero, I know where everything in every place is, so ya' don't need to worry!"

"But you, like, do not the meaning of a balanced diet?" Poland sneered, a cheeky smile on his lips and his arms now folded across his chest.

America's heroic stance faltered as he turned to face the Polish male, a pout on his face, "Dude, not cool! That was totally uncalled for!" He dashed toward the Briton, snuggling into him. England's eyes widened, but he wrapped his arms around the American's back, a content smile on his face; the embrace reminding him of what it used to be like when America was young.

"Despite this heart-warming reunion between the Briton and the American, why don't we go and find this castle, non~?" Francis grinned as he ran his fingers through his luxurious blond hair.

"I do think that this would be most interesting. This could enhance our understanding of our fellow comrade's country-aru," China spoke again, his brown eyes sparkled with anticipation. The Russian nodded, fixing his eyes and foreboding smile onto the Baltic States, as well as Poland. They all looked at one another then nodded to Russia, showing their understanding that they would need to go along with hi

"…Maple?"

* * *

"Germany! Germany! Look what I found!" Italy ran into Germany's office, where he was discussing some battle preparations with Japan.

"Italy! I told you to not disturb me when I am in a meeting!" Germany roared, slamming his fists on the table as he stood up; his teeth bared and clenched tightly.

"I-I'm sorry! …But, look look!" The Italian held up a newspaper and set it onto the desk in front of the others: _Castle from 1428 found in near-complete state in Bedfordshire, England_. "Isn't it cool?" He hopped on the balls of his feet, clearly hyper and excited, despite it being time for his siesta.

The blue-eyed German studied the paper with intense scrutiny, "And, why are you showing this to us Italy?" His temper had calmed down; then he glanced up at the Italian with a curious gaze.

"What's going on Italy? Tell big brother Spain!" The bright tone of the Spaniard's voice rang through the room as he entered with a scowling Romano beside him. The Italian simply swept the newspaper up from the desk and handed it to Spain, who read it intently. Romano read it too, over the other's shoulder.

"The hell?! You want to go to England, fratello?!" Romano yelled, frustrated since he hated the English bastard with a passion.

"Italy, this is amazing! I think we should go and find it before the Allies get there first!" Spain grinned brightly, his green eyes sparkled with excitement. A glare of irritation was shot at him from the Southern Italian, who then clipped him around the back of the head. "Ow! Romano, what was that for?"

The moody Italian folded his arms across his chest, a deep scowl on his face, "Just you being the annoying tomato-loving bastard that you always have been!" He growled, his curl twitching excessively.

A loud boisterous laugh emanated through the door, before being kicked open by a certain Prussian. "Okay! What is going on without the awesome me? I heard all the commotion and wanted to know what's up?"

"Big brother Prussia! Do you want to come with us to find this ancient castle?" Italy smiled widely, his amber irises glittering. The Prussian laughed excessively, his hands on his hips as he confirmed that he'd tag along with utmost excitement. Germany sighed in annoyance, massaging his temples to prevent an aneurism.

Spain was pleading with Romano, trying to get him to come with them to England. "Please Roma?" He pouted sadly, his green eyes welling with tears.

The Southern Italian growled and cried out, "Argh! Fine! I'll go already." Scowling, he folded his arms across his chest. Spain cheered in success, embracing Romano, who complained and fought back, although his singular curl formed a small heart.

"Alright, let's go!" Prussia called, leaving the room with the others following behind him.

* * *

Liechtenstein and Switzerland were busy cleaning up dishes from dinner. Austria and Hungary had come to visit, to discuss some important information amongst themselves. The stuck-up Austrian was sitting by the grand piano, his fingers gliding over the keys. He was then interrupted by the Hungarian bursting into the room; causing him to slam his fingers on numerous dissonant notes.

"Honestly Hungary, must you be so loud? You ruined my musical train of thought!" He fumed. Switzerland ran into the room with his magnum pistol aimed out in front of him; Liechtenstein cowered behind her big brother, a concerned look on her delicate features.

"Apologies, Mr. Austria. I just got too excited! I finally have a way to beat Prussia in something other than hunting!" The Hungarian chuckled brightly. Switzerland lowered his gun and encourage Hungary to explain what she was talking about.

Hungary handed the Austrian an article for the found castle. Liechtenstein smiled brightly, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. "This looks very interesting Elizabeta~"

"I know! Say, Mr. Austria. Why don't we go and explore it? I have to beat Prussia and prove he is not the best nation in Europe!" Hungary grinned, rivalry evident on her face. "Switzerland, Liechtenstein, do you wish to come with us?"

The Swiss male knelt down to his little sister, "What do you think?" After a moment of hesitation, Liechtenstein nodded her head, confirming that she wanted to go with him. "Well I guess we will accompany you Hungary."

The four nations walked to the door, Liechtenstein singing a traditional Swiss lullaby in her sweet tone.

 _ **Author's note:**_

This was the first story I began to write for Hetalia, I started it at least three years ago. It is heavily edited from then because my writing back then was not great. Oh well. Action will begin next chapter.

This story has numerous pairings, after all there are twenty characters!

I hope you enjoyed this prologue; this story will be updated on Wednesdays at 10pm GMT.

Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: Unusual World Meeting

England, America, France, China, and Russia, had made it to the castle. Along with them were Lithuania, Poland, Latvia, Estonia and Canada who for once did not have Mr Kumajirou in his arms.

"Holy crap, this place is huge!" America cried out, his bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement. The other nations looked at him with a sense of annoyance… all except for England. The Briton had a determined smile on his face, a hand on his hip and the other resting on his heart.

"It shows the true power of the Great British Empire." England spoke proudly. This was his country's power; gone but not destroyed.

France began to chuckle, a cheeky smirk on his face, "But… as far as I remember, your 'Empire' ceased to exist in 1997, when Hong Kong left you for China, isn't that right, Angleterre?"

Something in England snapped, his teeth gritted as he lashed out at the Frenchman, cursing and badmouthing him with the usual insults: 'frog' and 'wine-loving bastard'.

America huffed as he grabbed the feisty British male, trying to calm him down. He had managed to grab England before he laid a single punch on the Frenchman and whispered:

"You aren't weak Britain… sure you may not have your Empire anymore, but you're still a really strong nation. Albeit, not as strong as me, but still strong!" America gave the elder nation a childish grin. "Ya' gotta' ignore France, after all, you two only fight! We're a team remember, with me being the leader and the Hero, but we work together, right?"

Britain glanced up at America, a soft blush staining his cheeks. "Y-Yes… you're right. I'm sorry America; those actions were unnecessary." A small scowl appeared on his face as he was let go; he didn't like being lectured by someone much younger than him. However, since it was America, he'd learn to live with it.

"Hold on, Mr America."

"Hm? What is it, Lithuania?" The American turned to the Lithuanian, a look of curiosity on his youthful features.

"Look over there." Lithuania pointed and the all Allies followed his line of sight. The Baltic country appeared to be pointing at a cluster of small figures advancing towards them. America raised his fists in case, but then confusion spread amongst the nations as a familiar voice cried.

"Hey Germany, there's big brother France!" Italy chimed as he ran in front of the German in question. Romano heaved an annoyed sigh at his younger brother, only to be swept up by the Spaniard and carried toward the other nations, a deep scowl on his face, although his cheeks flushed a light pink.

"Hey! Birdie!" Prussia yelled; darting toward the Canadian, his red eyes alight with happiness at seeing his maple leaf again.

"Hey Prussia…" The quiet nation whispered, bracing himself for the Prussian's tackling hug; the albino then placed multiple kisses on the Canadian's cheeks, which caused him to blush.

"Prussia!" A loud female voice was heard. The country in question turned around, an arm still around Canada's shoulders. The Prussian was then tackled to the ground by the angry Hungarian.

"You bastard! How the hell did you beat me?!" She cried out, her green eyes dark with annoyance.

"What? Isn't it obvious? I am just more awesome than you! Kesesese~" Prussia laughed and pushed Hungary off, sitting up, resting his elbow on his knee. The Canadian, out of worry, knelt by the Prussian and asked if he was okay. The albino just grinned, his fanged teeth showing; pulled the Canadian to him and kissed his lips. Canada was slightly stunned but settled and kissed Prussia back.

Hungary folded her arms and walked back to Austria; she was unimpressed.

"Anyway, after this odd chain of events, shall we head inside?" Italy smiled brightly.

"Hell yeah! This'll be fun!" America grinned, taking England's hand in his own; this caused the Briton to blush brightly. "Don't worry guys! After all, I'm the HERO~!"

Everyone, the Allies, the Axis, and the central European countries, all stuck together as they went to enter the dilapidated castle.

"This is going to be like so cool bro!" America chuckled.

"America, you will now see the true power of the Great British Empire." England grinned.

"Let's, like, go inside already." Poland complained, staying beside Lithuania. Prussia began to laugh as he ran to the large wooden doors and flung them open.

All the nations covered their eyes as a harsh wind gushed past them. It bit their cheeks due to the icy chill. Some of the nations gathered together, trying to protect each other. The Baltic Trio stuck together, as did the Central Europeans.

"Holy shit! It's cold in there!" Romano shrieked.

"I don't know why it's so cold here in England!" Italy shivered, latching onto Germany's muscular arm for protection.

Switzerland put his arms around Liechtenstein as she began to shake; as did America to England.

A few moments later, the wind stopped and everyone considered the grand yet dimly lit hallway of the castle. Russia, unshaken by the biting wind, decided to step forward into the candlelit corridor. England let out a small yelp as a shiver went down his spine; he took a step back and clutched the material of his shirt.

"Iggy? W-What's up?" America asked the Briton, concern clouding his face.

"M-Maybe we shouldn't go in. I have a horrible feeling about this now…" England's face was pure white, his pupils small inside his emerald irises, sweat dripping from his brow.

"Are you serious-aru? We've made it this far let's go!" China spoke; the elder country wanting authority.

"It was a vingt minute drive, mon ami. I would hardly call that a challenge." France spoke, a sarcastic pout on his face and a hand on his hip.

"Yeah, come on Britain. I swear, if we go in and we get into trouble, you bet your ass I'm gonna' get us outta' there." America grinned, but a look of pleading clouded his eyes. He had found the castle and so he wanted to explore it properly.

England looked around at the other nineteen people with them, but fixated his gaze on America. "A-Alright… But, if anything bad happens we are getting out of here." America nodded in response and held the Brit's hand tight in his own.

And so, the Nations had come together to explore this castle. What was going to occur now in this unusual world meeting?

 _ **Author's Note:**_

This is up a little early today, whew! Just as a heads-up: I am back to university next week, so, expect Finding his Queen to be up, still on Mondays, at around 6pm GMT, so it's less time to wait! Lower Your Ghostly Sword will still be up at 10pm GMT on Wednesdays!

So, all the nations meet in this chapter, I know there's still not a lot of action yet; but that will all begin next chapter. Warning you know, there is a lot of major character death in this fanfiction, with quite a few gorey scenes; they aren't completely disgusting, but one or two of them can seem a little disturbing.

Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter and see you all again on Monday!

Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two: Never Ending Life

All twenty Nations proceeded through the regal corridors of the castle. The interior was a charcoal grey stone, with lanterns lit along the walls, adding a warm, orange glow to the dank castle, and a royal red carpet along the floor, with small gold designs along the borders.

The whole building looked very well kept despite its age, however it still held a medieval feeling which chilled the Nations to the bone. They could imagine soldiers clad in metallic armour, holding shields and swords as they returned from battle or potentially invaded the castle to take control. The feeling reminded England of the 1066 Battle of Hastings against the Normans.

"This is pretty cool, huh Romano?"

"Shut up, Spanish bastard!" Romano snapped at the Spaniard.

Liechtenstein quivered as she walked hand in hand with Switzerland. Sensing the smaller nation's unease, the Swiss male looked down to her and gave her a small, reassuring smile; this was rarely seen to anyone, including Liechtenstein.

"I won't let anything happen to you Liechtenstein. I promise you." He whispered in encouragement; his grip on the tiny female's hand tightened.

Russia had his usual grin on his face, as the nervous, trembling trio walked behind him with the addition of Poland. Germany, Italy, Spain and Romano stayed very close to one another, the German providing his Italian with calming words and protection; whereas, the Spaniard was only getting words of insult and complaint from the other Italian. Canada walked beside Prussia; China was discussing something about food to Japan; Austria was describing some music to Hungary and England and America were still holding hands as they trekked through the castle.

"Hey! There's a door here guys!" Italy cheered, his amber irises lighting up in excitement.

The stronger of the nations, America, Germany, and Prussia, pushed open the heavy, mahogany doors. They all stepped through it into a lavish banquet hall. Candelabras lit up the dreary room, revealing the large, oak dining table, and chairs, in the centre of the room.

England looked around and gasped, his emerald irises shrinking, before running out; letting go of America. Spain's peridot eyes widened as he took in the surroundings, almost as if he had seen them before.

"Dude?!" America dashed out of the hall, after the Briton, only to find him sitting on the floor, curled up, his head in his knees. The American knelt to the Brit, placing his hand on his shoulder to reassure the other of his presence. "Britain, you okay?"

"We… we shouldn't be here." England looked up at America; his face had lost its usual glow. The older male was shivering violently. America frowned and pulled the Briton into his chest, hugging him tightly, gently running his gloved fingers through the other's blond hair. England clung to America, his hands gripping tightly onto his bomber jacket; his knuckles turning white.

"If shit hits the fan, we're getting out of here. I promise. Do you trust me?" America mumbled into the Brit's hair. The words seemed to ease England as he relaxed into America's arms; before pulling away and gazing up at him with those emerald irises. America gave his former brother a genuine smile and helped him up; England smiling back.

"I trust you Alfred… Thank you… that does calm me down a bit. The thing that worries me is that… I recognise this place." England spoke, his face falling slightly again.

"Oh? How do you remember it?" America quirked a brow, his sapphire eyes confused behind the thin sheets of glass.

"Well I was here, back when I-"

"LIET!" England was cut off by a loud scream from the hall. In worry, the two ran back into the large hall only to find, Poland kneeling on the floor, sobbing over Lithuania's body.

"Liet… wake up. Please, like, wake up!" Poland cried; but Lithuania stayed motionless, his eyes shut and lips parted. Poland gritted his teeth and buried his face in Lithuania's chest.

"P... Poland." The said nation jumped up and looked at the person who spoke his nation title.

"L-Liet! Hang in there! We'll get you help, I, like, promise…" Poland's words faded as Lithuania placed his blood-stained hand on his cheek. The Polish boy responded, by placing his hands over the Lithuanian's; tears streaming down his cheeks.

"N-No need… I've lost too much blood…" The Lithuanian spoke, his face grim and pale, his blue eyes clouded with acceptance of his death. "Feliks… just promise me one thing…"

Poland's sobs increased as Lithuania spoke his human name. "Y-Yes Toris, anything!"

"Just…get out of here…a…alive." Lithuania panted, his eyes beginning to glaze over. Poland nodded and kissed Lithuania's forehead, then with one final smile and breath…Lithuania's eyes glossed over and his chest stopped rising and falling. Poland gritted his teeth and hugged the Lithuanian's body, ignoring the cold crimson liquid soaking his pale pink shirt.

"W-What happened?!" America cried; his sky-blue eyes tear stained.

"W-We have no idea. L-Lithuania just fell." Estonia shook as he spoke.

"A stab wound." England spoke; advancing toward the body and the sobbing Polish boy. He knelt down and placed his hand by the wound; closing his eyes. "This was caused by a very similar weapon to what I would have used when I was a pirate so long ago." England looked up and brought his left hand up as well; a lime green glow caressing his fingertips as a figure of a blade appeared before them: a severely sharp cutlass.

"But if that's something that we pirates used to use… how did it get here when we caught no sight of it?" Spain enquired, glancing over at the Brit.

"That, I don't know. It is most strange." England's eyes widened, before he yelled. "Everyone get back!" All the nations jumped back…except for Poland. "Poland, get over here, NOW!"

Poland looked back to them, his usually bright eyes now dulled by the sight of the Lithuanian's death.

"Poland, please get over here! Think of what Lithuania told you! The promise you made to him!" This statement from Latvia caused the Polish boy to jerk out of his trance and get up; running to the others.

England looked up and his eyes widened, "It can't be..-!"

Spain replied, "It has to be… what else could it be?"

Romano snapped at them, "Why the fuck are you speaking in riddles?! Tell us what's going on!"

England pointed up to the floor above, the balconies surrounding the hall; two translucent figures were chasing one another, both holding jagged blades with pistols in their holsters.

"Look out!" America pushed Britain and Japan out of the way as a gunshot resonated through the room; the trio missing the bullet as it hit the doorframe with a loud crack.

"Everyone, out now!" Germany barked; then he and Prussia made sure everyone got out of the room safely.

"Germany!" Italy ran to the German, when he came out of the dining hall, completely unscathed. "Are you okay?" The Italian was shivering in fright from the startling sounds and from the thought of his German being hurt.

"Ja, I'm fine Italy." The German reassured the Italian with a gentle, comforting hug. "England, what was that?"

England looked to the other blond; "Me." That was the only word he spoke.

"But… England. You're here right now, aren't you?" Canada whispered, shivering in Prussia's arms.

"That was a past self. My pirate self. I may seem a gentleman now…but when I was a pirate I was ruthless." Britain's eyes darkened, his teeth grit and he looked down at the floor in shame.

"Ve, but there were _dos_ figures right?" Italy spoke. "Who was the other one?"

"The other figure was me. England and I were great enemies back in the pirate era." Spain stated, folding his arms across his chest. "Our pirate selves were fighting one another."

"Just like the old days." England folded his arms, shutting his eyes.

"But what do we do now? Should we leave?" Liechtenstein suggested.

"We should go. Before anyone else is lost…" England glanced over at Poland, who was hugging himself tightly, his shirt stained with Lithuania's blood. "Let's go now."

So… England and Spain's conflicted past had come back to haunt them; they took Lithuania's life. It truly seems that a Pirate has a Never-Ending Life…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three: Blood Stain

The nineteen Nations trudged through a dank hallway of the castle; it seemed much less vibrant than the entrance and the banquet hall from before. England led the way, his face concealing a stern gaze as he attempted to remember the layout of the building, alongside Spain who was getting an earful from an annoyed Italian.

CRASH!

"What was zat?" France yelped at the loud sound.

England and Spain looked back and noticed their ghost selves darting towards them; the two figures completely oblivious to the Nations as they continued their ongoing sword fight.

"Mi amigos! Run for it!" Spain cried and took Romano's hand as they turned to bolt down the hallway, before the other could protest.

They all ran, holding onto their loved ones for dear life. All they could do was try and escape the clashing of swords behind them. The metallic crashes were getting closer and closer…

Unfortunately… "AH!" A strangled yelp occurred from the back of the group. They turned back to find the ghosts crossing their swords…inside of Canada's chest. The Canadian twitched in pain, taking short breaths as his violet eyes focused on the silver penetrating his skin.

The ghosts of Pirate England and Spain drew their swords out of the Canadian, who fell to the floor. The ruby fluid flowed from his wounds, staining the frozen stone he lay upon. Prussia and America stared, open mouthed at the Canadian. But America ran to his little brother's side, knelt and pulled him onto his lap.

"Matt! Say something! Please!" America cried, his aqua eyes twinkling with tears.

"Al…Alfred…" Canada opened his eyes and looked up at his brother through his amethyst irises. His innocent face destroyed by the blood on his cheeks, his glasses slightly shattered from the fall. "S-Sorry… I was too slow…"

"Don't be stupid… England. Please help him! I can't lose him!" America screamed, fixing his eyes on England. The Brit's head fell in shame; America's eyes widened and more tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"You'll be alright… You don't need me." Canada smiled softly up at America, his eyes sparkling with tears too. "You're s-strong, Alfred." The Canadian reached up and placed his hand on America's cheek, using his thumb to dry his tears. "Please don't…cry."

"Matt…" America gritted his teeth and held Canada's hand tight in his own. "Shit… shit!" The American sobbed loudly. The Nations all hung their head and kept one another close; two of their party had suffered.

"Birdie…" Prussia knelt by Canada and America; he gently grazed his fingers over the Canadian's cheek. The Prussian's garnet irises glittered as he began to cry as well, which never usually happened since he was the Awesome Prussia; he leant in and softly pressed his lips to Canada's, accepting the return kiss from his beloved. "We're gonna' miss you… you were awesome…"

Canada smiled at the albino's words, "Not as awesome as you…" The wounded took a sharp intake of breath, before coughing violently; maroon liquid seeping into his clothes. "Be…safe…" The American and Prussian nodded together; they were both losing the person they cared for, this was no time for them to dispute against one another. "Ma…ple…" Canada's eyes fluttered shut as his voice faded; his head lulling to the side in his brother's lap.

England and Germany dashed over to the two and took them into their arms; comforting them as they grieved. England muttering words of consolation to America, running his fingers through the other's golden locks; whilst Germany did the same, only he stayed silent and allowed his elder brother to cry.

America pulled away from England and gazed down at his brother's pale face; he gently lifted Canada up and pulled his jacket off; before placing him down on the biting stone and getting up. The American carefully placed the Canadian's jacket over his upper body, covering his death stricken face. Alfred soon sought more comfort and clung to England as he cried.

Prussia soon calmed down and got up, his eyes bloodshot and his voice hoarse. America stopped crying too, wiping his eyes under his glasses. The Brit took the American's hand and took him away from the still Canadian; Germany did the same.

"Let's keep going. We'll grieve later." England spoke in an authoritative tone, his voice squeaking slightly as he held back tears of his own. He held the American close as the group continued to walk down the eerie hallway.

"This is most enjoyable is it not?" Russia smiled sadistically at the group. Poland, Prussia and America all glared at him in horror.

"How can you say that this is, like, enjoyable? Liet just died, and so did like Canada!" Poland snapped; the blond becoming furious, his green eyes dark.

"Yeah, my little brother's gone and so is Lithuania! Don't you care at all that your… your _servant_ died?" America cringed, remembering the joy that Lithuania had felt when he came to America's home, when he had finally gained independence from Russia.

Russia's face went blank as he remembered the Lithuanian; soon a small rose flush appeared on his cheeks. "Hm… I will miss Lithuania. He was a good friend." Everyone felt a little frightened to hear Russia say that word.

The next few minutes seemed to take forever, they had been walking down this corridor for so long, that some thought it would never end. Everyone stayed silent as they remembered the fallen Nations, but soon…

"PASTA! There's a door here guys~!" Italy cheered; he smiled at the others as they looked up to the large door. Although he held a bright smile, his heart ached as he saw the Nations grieving for those who had died.

England and America pushed the heavy door open, which led into a general living space. A fireplace was burning, a grand chandelier and a collection of comfortable furniture was laid out.

Italy and Romano, being Italian, hopped onto the plush couch and shut their eyes.

"Hey! This is no time for a siesta!" Germany barked at the two.

"But Germany, we're tired and Italian. We need a siesta or we'll die." Italy giggled childishly. But the German continued to scold him and his elder brother, although Romano cursed at him in return calling him the usual insult of 'potato bastard'.

America, meanwhile, sighed and sat down in a corner of the room, bringing his knees to his chest. "We should sit and rest for a while. Get our strength back." His aqua blue irises had lost their glow; England stared at the American, before walking over and sitting beside him.

"How are you feeling?" England asked, despite the stupidity of the question; of course America wasn't alright.

America shrugged, "I'm okay. Upset…but holdin' it together right?" He gave the Brit a smile; but Britain wasn't going to be fooled so easily.

"I know how you must feel; losing both Lithuania and Canada in only a matter of minutes." England glanced at Alfred. "But, stay strong for them. You're grown up now." The Briton placed a hand on America's shoulder and kissed his forehead. "It's alright."

America's eyes widened as he remembered something from his past: A memory…of himself and England. He's sitting in England's lap, being sung to. He must have had a nightmare and England was comforting him. England kissed his head and told him it'd be alright and that he would protect him…just like he did now… The American grasped onto England with a deathly grip and didn't let go. "Promise me…"

"Huh? A-Alfred, what are y-"

"Promise, you'll never leave me alone…Just say it." America's grip tightened until England placed a hand on his.

"I promise you Alfred. I'll never leave you." England avoided remarking how America had left him in 1783; the end of the American Revolutionary War. But, England hadn't got the courage to shoot America back then… so why would he let the American die now, even if it's not by his hand?

"Thanks Britain… It means a lot." America blushed and cuddled the older Brit. England chuckled and held the American close.

Liechtenstein was perched on Switzerland's lap, who was sitting on one of the prestige chairs in the room. The girl was snuggled up to the elder Swiss male; shivering in his arms.

"Big brother… we're going to be alright, aren't we?" Liechtenstein quivered.

"Of course we will. I'll protect you Liechtenstein." Switzerland took the girl's hand in his own, gently grazing his thumb over her knuckles. Liechtenstein gently kissed Switzerland's cheek and stayed close to him. The two huddled together; protecting one another with words of comfort and consolation.

Suddenly… BANG!

"Look out! They're back again-aru!" China cried out, dodging a dagger which was thrown by England's ghost.

Pirate England and Pirate Spain began their swordfight once more; spectre England cackling as he slashed the sharp blade at Spain. The Spaniard dodged each swipe and pulled out a revolver shooting three times at the Englishman. England dodged each time; but the last bullet ricocheted and hit the small chain connecting the chandelier to the ceiling.

"ESTONIA! Watch out!" Latvia yelled, attempting to run to him, only to be caught by France.

Estonia yelped and looked up, he went to dash away… but, too late. CRASH!

Latvia struggled in the Frenchman's grip. "Let go. Damn it, let go you son of a bitch!" The Latvian sobbed as he saw the Estonian trapped under the chandelier. England and America dashed over to his side. America with his strength moved the heavy light off Estonia; then England pulled him onto his lap.

"How bad are the wounds Britain?" America enquired, kneeling beside him.

"Pretty bad… His wrist is broken and the candles were still alight… so they've scolded his skin with the melted wax. I have a horrid feeling some of the wax got inside this gash here." England pointed out the ragged laceration across Estonia's chest; beginning from his left shoulder going down to his waist, ending on the right-hand side.

Italy gagged and covered his mouth, "Oh my god…" The other Nations stared in horror at the Estonian's injuries… their attention was then brought to England as he spoke.

"I can't save him. I don't seem to have enough magic in this blasted place! I'm sorry Estonia. I truly am." England gently laid Estonia on the rug which lay under an oak coffee table.

Latvia finally escaped France's grasp and ran over to Estonia, falling to his knees. "I've lost Lithuania, I can't lose you too!" The young country sobbed, "Please don't leave me with mean old Mr Russia!"

"L-Latvia..! He's right over there… y-you need to stop being so spacey and f-focus on what you say b-before you say it." Estonia chuckled weakly. "Just know… that Lithuania and I thought of you… a-as our little brother… We loved spending time with you…" Estonia's smile began to lose its form as his life flowed out with his blood.

The young Nation continued to cry, hugging the Estonian tightly, not wanting to let go. "I'll miss you… b-big brother…" Latvia stuttered as the tears cascaded down his cheeks; burying his face in Estonia's shoulder.

"I-I'll miss y-you too…" Estonia's voice became shaky, and he placed a hand on Latvia's head, attempting to console him in his final moments, by brushing his fingers through the ash brown locks. "Stay alive… Raivis…" With that Estonia's hand dropped to the floor with a soft thud, his head lulled to the side and his grey eyes glossed over; losing their sparkle.

Latvia raised his head off Estonia's shoulder and gently closed the other's eyes with his index finger and thumb, "I will… I promise Eduard…" The Latvian swallowed and got up on shaky legs; turning to the others. Liechtenstein, despite not knowing Latvia very well, walked over to him and gently hugged him; Latvia hugged her back, seeking any form of comfort.

"Shit…" England growled and turned away from them. "That's three down…who's going to die next?!" He clenched his fists, they were shaking intensely.

"Britain? You're becoming hysterical-aru!" China shivered, staying close to Japan.

"Hysterical~?! Me?! I never would have guessed! After all… I'm the Great British, fucking, Empire!" England yelled, his emerald irises a swirl of insanity and despair. A dark smile crossed his face as he contemplated what was happening. He could have saved all three of the Nations who had died, but he couldn't due to the restrictions in the atmosphere He was about to let out another screech of anger, until a familiar pair of arms pulled him tight to their body.

"Britain, dude. Chill out. No one else is gonna' die. Not when the hero's around, got it?!" America shook England to snap him out of it. England placed a hand on his forehead, he felt burning hot... but he wasn't going to mention that to America. His madness was probably brought on by this potential fever he had just gotten.

Three members of the Nation's group had been taken down by the ghosts of England and Spain's past. Three perfectly innocent people had now been blood stained…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four: Shattered Bonds

All the remaining Nations withdrew from the snug living area, now contaminated with the Estonian's death. Latvia stuck by Russia's side, now alone without Lithuania and Estonia, he felt small and powerless around the stronger country.

Romano and Italy held one another close as to protect each other, so they didn't become torn apart like America and Canada had. Their hands were laced in one another's, the younger now sombre and quiet, frightening his older brother and the blond German; as they were so used to Veneziano being so chirpy despite being in difficult circumstances. To see him so run down was strange to witness.

Everyone walked in silence, out of respect for those they had lost, but also because no one knew what to say. Commiserations were in order; however, it did not seem like the right time to say anything, in case anyone else was caught in the spectre's spat.

Soon, they stumbled upon another door; entering with caution, England checked that the coast was clear of the two. Once he was sure that the two deathly figments were not in the room; he signalled for the others to go in.

It was a bedroom with a rich cream and red colour scheme. A grand four poster bed stood against the centre of the right-hand wall with plush cushions. Of course, just as they had done in the living room, the two Italians hopped onto the bed and relaxed into the comfy duvet, small sighs of content escaping them.

"Ve~ This is so nice." Italy sighed happily, snuggling into the covers of the bed. Romano nodded in agreement, a soft smile on his face for a change.

Then, a gunshot fired.

"Sacré bleu! They're back!" France yelped, ducking on the floor; his blue eyes wide in fear.

"Don't be stupid, Frenchman. It was me." Switzerland spoke, slipping his handgun back into its holster. "Italians. Get off the bed. Liechtenstein needs to rest." The Swiss male looked to the girl, her green eyes seemed dull with tiredness and upset. Her normal bubbly attitude had gone astray as she had witnessed the other's murders.

"Aww. The little bambino needs a rest? Okay, Switzerland." Italy grinned, and got up with Romano.

"Danke schön." Switzerland gently led Liechtenstein over; as soon as she touched the plush duvet and pillows, her eyes shut, falling asleep in an instant. The elder male sat beside her, brushing her hair out of her face tenderly, the stern look remained on his face, despite a soft blush.

The others settled down in separate parts of the room, Germany and Prussia on the lookout should the spectres return. Everyone was tired, panicked, and grieving. None of them wanted anyone else to die in the brutal ways that the others had. England was muttering soft prayers to himself, as were the Italians; their hands clasped in front of them tightly in worship and penance.

A few minutes later, the group heard a clash from outside the room. All of them glanced toward the door; everyone knocked out of their prayers and thoughts, as they expected the worst. The large door then splintered as the two ghosts burst through into the room.

"Shit! They're back; get out of here now!" England yelled, taking control, escorting the others out of the room, alongside America.

"Liechtenstein, wake up!" Switzerland harshly whispered to her. The young girl woke with a start and jumped up from the bed; only to stumble as the ghost of Pirate Spain flew past her and collided with the window in the room, shattering the glass allowing a biting wind to flow through the room.

Switzerland took her hand and began to run to the doorway; unfortunately Pirate England, who seemed to disregard their existence, crashed into them, pushing Liechtenstein away from the Swiss male.

The girl squeaked as she was forced back; gasping as her back met the window-ledge. Spectres England and Spain dashed past her with enough intensity to cause her to fall backwards out the window. Liechtenstein's delicate hands gripped the serrated stone; small trails of blood trickling down her fingertips, staining the pure white cuffs of her dress.

"Liechtenstein, take my hand!" Switzerland called as he leant out the window and reached out to her. The girl looked up with tear-filled eyes, pushing herself up and taking his hand; he held onto her tightly and attempted to pull her up. "I know I prefer to be neutral… but help me. For Liechtenstein!" The Swiss male called to the others over his shoulders, desperation evident in his voice. Hungary dashed over and grasped Liechtenstein's arm to pull her up.

The next sound would haunt Switzerland for the rest of his life; Liechtenstein's usually quiet voice let out a loud screech as the two felt a pop in the girl's arm. They hurriedly pulled her up; Switzerland took her into his arms and set her down on the floor against the wall. Vash cringed at the sight… Liechtenstein's left arm had been dislocated; her shoulder clearly not where it should normally be.

"Switzerland, Hungary! Look out!" America yelled to them as he saw Pirate England throw a small blade at the Spaniard's ghost, only for him to dodge it and the dagger was now flying in their direction. The two looked up, Hungary made a leap for it…but Switzerland didn't.

However, a few moments later…

"N-No… NO!" A voice called. The Nations glanced up, eyes widening in shock, cries escaping a few of them as they realised what had just happened.

"S-Switzy…" Liechtenstein's tiny voice quivered in pain and fright. "I-I'm sorry…" Her emerald eyes gleamed with tears. "I didn't mean to be so much trouble…"

"You weren't any trouble Lili…" Switzerland wept; his olive-green eyes bloodshot from crying. No one had ever seen the Swiss male cry before… this was the first time.

"Vash…" Liechtenstein smiled weakly at Switzerland, a tiny blood droplet running down her chin, staining her snow-white face. The young girl had been hit in the stomach by the dagger; it pierced her skin and buried itself in her flesh.

Switzerland gritted his teeth and then pressed his lips to her forehead, pulling her close to his chest. "I can't lose you… I just can't…" He cried; Liechtenstein reached up, and wrapped her arms around him.

"I'll always be here… in spirit…look inside your heart Vash… I'll be there…" Liechtenstein's grip loosened and her voice lost its volume. "I… promise you… Ich… Ich liebe dich…" With her final words, her life dissipated and fled her physical body. Switzerland laid the girl back against the wall and pulled his jacket off; he placed it over the girl's upper body and got up.

Vash's face had stiffened into his usual scowl; he pushed past the group. "Let's go."

Everyone followed him; they all knew he was distressed… but due to his neutrality he wished to hide it.

The group kept walking through the castle; still trying to find the way out but they only went deeper into the looming darkness of the old building. Switzerland stayed toward the front of the remaining Nations; he was hiding his bloodshot, red, puffy eyes from the others as to further dignify his neutrality. However, the others knew that the Swiss male was in distress, from the way his shoulders shook.

Austria, as Switzerland's past friend, took it upon himself to walk up to Vash, and speak to him.

"You know… there's no point in hiding your emotions all the time Switzerland. We've all suffered grief today. You can let it out." Austria spoke, his words comforting yet seemingly dark as if he were scolding the Swiss boy.

"There's no point to grieving at a time like this. All we need to focus on is getting out of this place so no more lives, like Liechtenstein and the others, are lost. Of course, Liechtenstein was special to me and I don't want to forget her… but I'll grieve later if I survive this ordeal." Vash looked to Roderich. "What do you care anyway? You hated me for a while…I became neutral because of you… so…just don't talk to me Austria." The Swiss faced away from the Austrian and continued to walk; his teeth gritted as he held back more tears; he wished to stay neutral without the depending on others.

Austria's face remained emotionless, his lips forming its usual line. Hungary took the Austrian's hand, who peered down at it, before looking to the Hungarian in confusion. "Hungary?"

"I can tell you're hurting Mr Austria. There's always a faint glow of emotion in your eyes despite the rest of your face staying the same. Switzerland is still young…he'll learn soon enough that losing someone is difficult and it's important to not hold in your grief. Because what I learnt is that you are not a man if you cannot face your emotions head first. Vash…is thinking that by hiding his emotions he seems stronger… but it will only bring him more heart ache in the future. Lili's birthday… the day of her death; each year his grief will grow stronger and it will earn him more pain. Don't give up. You need to bring him out of his shell. Let him cry on your shoulder; be his friend as you used to be." Hungary finished, her face gleaming with a passive smile, a sense of gentleness emanating from her as she spoke. Austria was taken back and gave Hungary a small peck on her cheek and held her hand tight as they continued to walk.

"Thank you, Hungary…That helps me in a great number of ways." Austria hummed happily, his lips curling into a small smile. The Hungarian blushed and placed her other hand on the Austrian's arm.

"I'm glad I could help."

"Is this the door where we came through?" Italy squeaked as they all stopped and looked up at the grand, yet familiar door.

"It's got to be…Why else would it be the same door?" Spain spoke.

England squinted, "Somehow…I doubt that this is the door we're looking for."

"You're an English bastard, so keep your mouth shut!" Romano growled, his teeth bared and clenched tightly together.

"Romano! C'mon man! Give Iggy a break! What's he done to you anyway?" America cried out in annoyance that a fight was starting for no reason.

The Italian was annoyed and pissed off, as usual, "He hasn't done anything in particular but I just hate him…he's a bastard."

England crossed his arms and sighed, used to the older Italian's abuse. "It's fine America; don't waste your time on such a pathetic little nation."

"Pathetic?! Who the hell do you think you're talking to? I'm a descendant of Ancient Rome! What about you England?"

"I was once the British Empire! I controlled a lot of the world at one point if you must know!"

"Well, look how that ended! You fell apart not very long after!" Romano smirked, clearly proud of himself.

"Neither did your grandfather! At least when my Empire fell I didn't die along with it, it proves that ALL Italians are weak and useless!"

"You BASTARD!" Romano lunged at the Brit, but was grabbed by Spain. "Let me go! I want to smash this bastard's brains in!"

"No way! That's so cruel amigo!" Spain yelped, trying to keep a grip on the furious Italian.

"Italy?" Germany spoke soothingly, but with concern. Everyone looked around to find the younger Italian sitting on the floor, his head in his knees.

"…Grandpa died in a war. He came back covered in scars…I remember that time, the day he died…" Italy whispered; his bubbly tone now sombre and afraid. "Don't think that anyone is weaker than you because each nation has their own strengths. Even if it isn't in warfare like Germany or Britain." Tears flowed from his amber irises; "Grandpa Rome…" Italy stopped talking and clutched to the body of heat that had knelt in front of him, opening their arms to hug him.

"Sorry…I'm sorry fratellino… Veneziano, look at me." Romano had pulled away and gazed at his younger brother crying, wiping his tears away with his fingertip. "I didn't mean to hurt you… Shit…I really am a horrible brother." The elder Italian looked as if he was about to cry as well.

"You aren't Romano…you're the best grande fratello I've ever had!" The two Italians held one another tightly, Italy; calm and sombre, Romano; quiet and gentle.

Germany and Prussia stood together; they were siblings as well so they understood the Italians' issues.

"G-Grazie…" Romano gave his little brother a watery smile as a few final tears drifted down his cheeks. The elder Italian got up and offered his hand to his little brother; helping him up and taking him to Germany. "Listen Germany…If I don't make it through this… promise me you'll look after Veneziano."

"Romano? Don't say that!" Italy shook, gripping his older brother.

"We have to face the truth right now, Feli. So, what do you say potato-eater?"

The German nodded, ignoring the insult for now. "I promise you."

"I'll help out too~ I adore our little Ita-chan~!" Prussia grinned and ruffled the younger Italian's hair. Italy smiled and snuggled into the Prussian.

"As much as this is a heart-warming scene can we please go through this door and see where it leads please?" Austria spoke.

"I agree. We need to make sure that we can escape these ghosts of our friends." Russia spoke, smiling sadistically as per usual.

Romano nodded and grinned once more at his little brother before he went to open the door…only to…

"Romano!" Italy cried.

Everyone's faces went deathly pale as they witnessed the sight. They saw Pirate Spain cackling, as Pirate England growled back at him, while holding a sword which went through Romano's stomach; the elder Italian was looking down at the razor-sharp blade that was piercing his lower abdomen.

"S-Shit… This is crazy… As soon as I ask someone to protect Veneziano…ugh…I d-die…" Romano coughed violently, crimson liquid splattering on the floor. The Italian then began to scream as the ghost began to drag the blade up his stomach, the gash expanding as it went further up the male's stomach and chest. Romano fell back when Pirate England retracted the blade from his stomach.

The little Italian ran to Romano's side and knelt beside him, cupping his cheeks. "N-No... Romano… Please don't die!" Italy began to cry; his face becoming tear-stained once again.

"Veneziano…don't worry about me. I-I'm just joining the others. Stay safe please, Feliciano…" Romano whispered as his life faded away, his olive eyes dulling. Italy nodded and rested his head on Romano's shoulder, continuing to weep. "Veneziano…you know that you may feel run down when I die...?"

"Si…I know." Italy sniffled sadly, sitting up. Romano and Italy leant close to one another, their hands tightly entwined together.

Romano coughed again, "By doing this…you'll get the rest of my energy…I'll pass faster but it will keep you going until you get home to rest. You'll need to take siestas more often now so you can recharge…" Excessive red fluid flowed from his wounds onto the icy stone.

"Rest well Lovino…I'll miss you grande fratello."

"I'll miss you too fratellino." Romano gave a shaky smile.

Spain knelt beside Romano as well, and grazed his fingers over the Italian's sun-kissed skin of his cheek. "B-Buenas noches mi amigo," the Spaniard spoke; tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

The elder Italian looked up at him, smiling weakly as a breathy chuckle escaped him, "Y'know…despite you being a tomato bastard…I'm gonna' miss ya. Ti amo Antonio~"

The Spaniard's face flushed a light pink at Romano having said his human name; the Italian had never called him that before. Antonio leant in and pressed his lips to Romano's, who kissed him back gently. Romano and Spain bid each other their final goodbyes, before the Italian closed his eyes and his head fell to the side.

The younger Italian continued to weep having lost his big brother; he held the now lifeless body in his arms and gritted his teeth. Spain did the same; resting his head on Romano's shoulder, he sobbed as well.

Germany then walked over to his small Italian and picked him up into his arms; Feliciano clung to Ludwig for dear life as he stained the German's forest green jacket with his tears. The blonde, usually so caring about his appearance, did not mind how he looked, he just wanted to console and protect Italy…that was all he cared about.

Spain got up and went over to France and Prussia; the Trio held one another tightly, trying to cheer Spain up yet allow him to grieve.

England knelt by Romano's body, "Spain. May I have your uniform jacket?"

The Spaniard complied silently, by handing the tan jacket to the Brit; who then laid it over the still Italian.

"We need to find the way out...Now." England spoke sternly. His emerald irises hidden as he marched past the body down the hallway; the others followed along.

"Britain. Do you think we'll ever get outta' here?" America asked, dashing to England's side as he walked away, walking beside him.

"Despite us becoming engulfed in the castle walls…I think that we'll escape. I certainly hope so…as to allow the fallen Nations' deaths to not be in vain. We must escape no matter who dies…" England opened his eyes; his emerald irises burning with revenge and determination. America swallowed anxiously and tried to take England's hand, only for the Briton to swipe it away.

Romano had been lost…due to the exact same reason that Liechtenstein, Estonia, Canada and Lithuania had been lost as well.

* * *

 _ **Author's note:**_

First chapter of the night! The second chapter will hopefully be up within the next hour to make up for my screw up last week.

I remember when I first wrote this, it actually killed me writing Romano's death; he's one of my favourite characters, besides England and Canada.

Anyway, hopefully this chapter has made up for my mistake; enjoy reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five: Camaraderie Betrayal

The night soon crept in; the hallways even more threatening as the world outside the castle walls began to fall into its daily slumber.

The young Italian was rundown and withdrawn from the minimal conversations that surrounded him; he just held onto the blond German as his legs began to ache from the consistent walking. Germany kept the Italian close by and watched him carefully, making sure that he didn't fall behind.

China and Japan then stopped and looked up. "I think we've reached the exit." The elder Nation spoke.

"I hope so…I'm starving." America complained, desperately wanting a hamburger.

So, the two Asian countries walked forward and opened the door; only to their surprise, and it was quite ironic, they had found a kitchen. There was a copper pot of water hanging from a metal bar over a pile of logs; and other pots and pans were scattered around the place.

"This is medieval, and British… yet they have all the major cooking supplies necessary for making delicious food-aru?" China spoke, taking in the multiple pots and pans.

"I never even knew Brits used proper cooking utensils to make the disgusting food that they, somehow, like to eat." France spoke; clearly confused yet he had a taunting tone of voice. England growled at the Frenchman and went to grab his throat, but America took the Brit's hand and shook his head.

"Well. Since there is food here, and it looks fresh, should I make something delicious to eat? It has been a while since we all ate last, right?" China smiled.

"Hell yeah it has! Like I said, I'm starving! Make hamburgers!" America laughed, outrageously. The remaining Nations all rolled their eyes at the American and all agreed that they should grab a small bite to eat.

China and Japan began to prepare some vegetables with the Swiss' knives; the blades in the kitchen were all corroded and damaged.

Russia was sitting down with Latvia on his knee, the younger Nation was shivering violently in his arms; he was seeking comfort…but not from Russia of all people. The older Nation smiled, sadistically, down at Latvia and gently patted his head, running his gloved fingers through the soft blond locks. Raivis was a little stunned at Ivan's likeable nature but for now he accepted it, the adolescent was still traumatised from the loss of the Estonian and the Lithuanian.

"Oh ho honh. What have we 'ere?" France laughed as he was kneeling down and peering into a cupboard. The Allies and the Axis crowded around him and looked down; the Frenchman then pulled out two bottles of crimson wine. "These look very vintage do they not?" France beamed at the prospect of getting a free drink.

"Don't touch any of it Frog! That's the last thing we need to deal with; some arsehole getting drunk." England sighed, in aggravation. The Frenchman scoffed yet put the bottles on the rotting table in the middle of the room.

The scent of the Chinese's cooking filled the room, which made everyone sigh in content; even England who is generally so apprehensive of the other Nation's food. Traditional home cooking, it eased the Nations, and made them feel like they were welcome in this dank castle; despite the deaths.

Unfortunately, the warm, homely feel did not last…

"They're back again! Does this never end?!" Switzerland yelled; pulling out a gun. And, he was right…once again, the ghosts of Pirate England and Pirate Spain had brought their ongoing swordfight to the group. The great door splintered as the two pirates burst through; constantly swinging their blades and fists at one another.

"Ay! England, you're cheating!" Pirate Spain yelped as Pirate England shoved him back.

"HA! I'm not cheating! What are you going to do? Get your Armada on me?" Pirate England cackled; his eyes glinting with sadistic ideology.

The Spaniard Pirate growled at the Brit and lashed at him; England dodged and perched on the table. "Really? You are so pathetic, Spain! It's quite unbelievable how you have protected that brat Romano for so long!" The Brit grinned evilly, his teeth seemingly fang-like. The Spanish pirate snarled; his emerald eyes darkening in pure hatred of the English captain.

The Spaniard's ghost was standing right beside China… who was near a fireplace; the apparition pulled out a gun and shot three rounds at the British spectre. The bullet chambers caused sparks to fly, landing on the primitive wooden blocks…setting them alight.

"China-San!" Japan cried, the generally emotionless male, now fearing for the elder Asian country's life.

The fire began to roar viciously as it crept up to the hem of China's uniform jacket; the fabric began to burn and soon, the elder Nation's upper body was enveloped in the flames. Hollow screams and cries were the only sounds leaving Wang Yao's lips.

"We need to find water!" England demanded. The group then began to rush around, trying to find some water.

"Don't worry! I have the solution!" France called; holding two open bottles.

"Francis, don't-!" England snapped, but too late. France began to douse the Chinese male with the cherry coloured alcohol. The Frenchman quickly jumped back as the flames began to burn more vigorously. The harsh glow of the blaze engulfed China… soon his cries of pain and fear began to die away… but before his voice disappeared completely, he said one last sentence.

"Francis… you drunk bastard…" Wang Yao's voice disintegrated as well as the crackle of the fire, as America had grabbed the copper pot of water and doused the Chinese male.

The fire died down and sizzled to a clear silence; as well as the insults between the ominous spectres, as they disappeared through the walls yet again.

"Ch-China-San..." Japan cried, his dull eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

The Frenchman stared in horror at the Chinese male's body, which was burnt and scorched from the raging flames; his face was pale and his sky-blue irises had shrunk within his eyes. He glanced down at his hands, tarnished with ash and soot; his heart was racing after what he had just done.

"France… you really fucked up this time." England growled, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.

"I-It wasn't my fault! I couldn't find any water and I thought using the wine would be a good idea!"

"It just proves that you're a useless drunk, you goddamn frog!"

"Iggy! Chill out!" America cried; worrying as a dark green aura appeared to emanate from England; while his emerald irises shrunk in pure hatred of the Frenchman.

France was shaking violently at the presence of the Chinese male's burnt body. Meanwhile, Japan, the male who usually senses the mood and refrains from speaking, ran to France and began to shout at him; his ordinary emotionless face now awash with anger.

Italy, despite being weak, went to Japan and began to comfort his comrade. France sighed sadly, his heart clenched with guilt; aching as he peered over to the Asian nations one at a time; the Japanese male in tears, whereas the Elder was burnt…dead, because of his stupid actions.

"Brit… what are you doing?!" America cried as England dashed at France, with a pan and corroded blade in his grip.

The Briton's face was scrunched up in a frightening snarl…low growls escaped his throat with each breath. "You're… a moron… I knew that. But… now I want to end it; you've made a huge fucking mistake!"

"Britain! I-I didn't mean to! Please, have mercy!" France yelped in fear of his fellow Ally; he had never seen the English gentleman so angry before.

"Because of you… China is DEAD! Do you NOT understand that?!" Arthur yelled; closing the gap between him and the Frenchman.

Francis backed away, until the Brit had forced him into a corner. England shot his hand out, quick as lightning and grabbed the Frenchman's neck; "You…YOU BASTARD!" The green-eyed male tightened his grip on France's neck, causing him to go purple in the face as he struggled for air.

A crazed glint shone in England's eyes as he threw the blue-eyed Frenchman away from the wall, before making a swing with the pan in his hand…

"Arthur, stop!" America yelled, but Prussia stopped the American.

"Birdie, wouldn't want you getting hurt! I don't give a shit about you because I'm the awesome Prussia...but I care about him. If things get worse, we'll grab England and get him away from France. Got it?" Prussia yelled at America; causing him to stop, despite his racing heartbeat. The Nations all, suddenly, looked to the Englishman…who had knocked the Frenchman to the floor with one solid swing of the pan in his hand; the dull clang of the metal meeting Francis' skull.

"Please… Britain…have mercy." France panted, as he lay on the icy stone floor; a small pool of crimson liquid drenching his once-perfect blond locks.

England knelt over the Frenchman, his legs on either side of his stomach; "Mercy? What's 'mercy'?" The Brit's lips curled into a manic grin, his teeth seemed to be fanged. "FUCK THAT!" England raised the rusty carver which he clutched in his right hand, before…

"ENGLAND, STOP!" America escaped Prussia's tight grip and dashed to the Brit, but… he was too late.

England had stabbed France in the stomach, before swiping the tarnished blade across Francis' throat, slitting it, warm blood spurted from the wound and sprayed across England's face and clothes. But, the Brit never stopped laughing maniacally, his eyes wide in extreme insanity, he gasped for air between each cold-hearted cackle.

America grabbed England's shoulders, but the Brit pushed him away, swearing and cursing the American… Everyone was shocked; no one had ever seen this side of Britain.

The next sound terrified all the Nations, as Switzerland shot a round into England's shoulder. The Briton reacted to the hit and came out of his trance; he looked to his blood-soaked hands and gasped. "O…Oh god…" He raised his hands to his face, smearing the blood that stained his skin, only to be picked up, and held by America.

"I've got you…" America hushed England, consoling him; he peered over his shoulder and glared at Switzerland.

England let go of America for a moment to look back at France's now motionless body. His head had tilted back and fallen to the side, eyes glazed over, small streams of blood and saliva ran down his stubble lined chin.

The Spaniard and the Prussian walked to their comrade's body and took his jacket off, placing the stained royal blue jacket over his upper body. Antonio held back his tears, as did Prussia; they hugged one another before going back to Italy and Germany.

"Goodbye Francis," the two remaining members of the Trio spoke as they walked away from the Frenchman's corpse. Prussia shot a dangerous glare to the Briton, who was still shivering in the American's arms. He couldn't believe what he had done.

So, France had been murdered…but not by the consistent brawl between the ghosts of England and Spain's past... But by England himself. There had been severe Camaraderie Betrayal…

* * *

 _ **Author's note:**_

Sorry this chapter isn't super long, there wasn't much I could really add/change about this.

Did you enjoy the plot twist? Not being mean to any fans of France out there, I really like him, but it made sense in the story that he would be the one Arthur would actually do something to after that dumb mistake. Maybe the scene was a little over the top, but I really liked it when I read it back, so I thought I'd keep it.

Anyway, updates for LYGS will continue as normal from now on and may finish before Finding His Queen since the extra chapter has been put up.

Reviews are always valued; thank you everyone, and see you next week!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six: Defence Against the Reaper

England stayed far ahead of the group; too ashamed to show his face to the surviving Nations. America watched the Brit with great concern, his face still pale as he remembered the crazed grin on England's face. The younger Nation then sighed and sped up a little bit so that he walked beside his former older brother; he gently tried to slip his hand into the other's, but Arthur swiped his hand away.

"America. Don't look at me…I'm a monster." England spoke sadly, his face pure white and partially blood stained after his fatal assault on France. All the deaths until France's had been caused by the imperishable battle between the Ghosts of England and Spain's history; Arthur simply could not believe that he had gone so mad, so much so, that he would kill someone.

"You're not a monster Brit. You just… you just snapped. And I know one thing, that when you snap it's not very easy to get you back. Don't worry…no one will hold a grudge against you because of what happened." America spoke softly; he had never experienced the insanity that England clearly possessed deep inside his mind, it clearly frightened him.

"You're right…I snapped. But I had no reason to…France and China were both my Allies; I guess my hatred for that Frog just pushed me over the edge when I saw what an idiot he was." England smirked darkly, "It was fun to make his face turn purple…before beating him to the floor and seeing his blood go everywhere…How EXHILIRATING!" The Brit cackled loudly; his laugh high-pitched and damaging to the ear.

"Britain, chill the fuck out!" America cried, getting in front of the Englishman and shaking him by his shoulders; England yelped slightly and came back to reality as America held the part of his arm where the Swiss male had shot him before. Arthur pushed Alfred away and placed his hand over the makeshift bandage that was tied around his arm; the white cotton no longer pristine.

America's face resembled a canvas, different emotions spread across his features like the assorted colours to form an undecipherable picture. But, brilliant shades of blue began to mark the canvas as sadness caused America's features to fall as England turned and continued to walk down the corridor without him.

"We need to stop!" A call from the back occurred causing everyone to stop and look back; Germany was kneeling beside a tired and struggling Italy. The younger Nation was kneeling on the harsh stone; panting and shivering; ever since his elder brother Romano died, Italy had become even more withdrawn from all the conversations which surrounded him, but this was the worst that anyone had seen the Italian so run down.

Germany brought the Italian onto his lap and looked up at the other Nations; "We need to find somewhere so Italy can rest. He won't make it if we ignore this."

"We can't stop." The distinct English accent shattered the already tense and worrying atmosphere. "We have to keep going or we'll be ambushed again by those bloody spectres. Just watch him; we need to get out and quickly. It's the only way that we'll really survive now."

The German went to retaliate but he then felt something tug at his uniform jacket; he looked down to see Italy gripping the fabric as tight as his weak fingers could hold. "I'll be okay Germany. Britain's right…we need to get out of here now. If I stop to rest, I'll slow you guys down and I don't want that." The Italian's amber irises, flecked with gold, bore into the German's piercing blue.

"If you're sure Italy..." Germany got up and helped Italy back onto his feet, before wrapping an arm around his shoulders; trying to keep him upright.

England turned back to continue the trek through the daunting corridor.

Many minutes passed by; time seemed to slow right down as the Nations' nerves hit their peaks, until…England stopped dead. He swiftly looked back and sure enough… they were here once again.

"Run for it! Germany, protect Italy as best as you can!" England shouted, used to this feeling of authority over the other Nations.

So, the remaining thirteen Nations raced down the corridor; being aware of the ghostly swordfight occurring right behind them; Germany and Italy ran close by one another.

"There's, like, a door there! Hurry and we could potentially, like save our lives!" Poland exclaimed; his cheeks flushed from the consistent running.

"Jeez, do these guys ever take a break?!" America yelled, looking back to see Pirate England and Spain duelling one another as they chased the Nations.

Unfortunately…not everyone reached the door.

"ITALY!" Germany cried and sprinted to the Italian who had fallen too far behind; Pirate England had raised his cutlass for a fatal blow to the other Pirate spectre which could potentially hit the young Italian; the German shoved Italy roughly out of the way before letting out an alarmed cry.

"G-Germany…NO! Ludwig!" Italy shakily got up from the floor and ran to the German's side. Ludwig was folded in slightly, lying on his side; the right side of his torso now awash with heavy blood flow. The Italian's amber irises lost their sparkle as they took in the German's gritted teeth and the laceration along his side.

"Ita-chan! Move it!" Prussia yelled, making his way to the two, his eyes flooded with tears; only to be stopped by Spain.

Italy shook his head and clung to Germany, not going to move anywhere without him. Pirate England dashed past the Italian back down the corridor into the darkness, but not too long after he returned, taunting the Spaniard ghost; who had had enough, pulled out his revolver, and shot three rounds at England, however…they did not hit their target.

Bullet wounds through the chest; the spilling of blood…it all had happened to the young Italian. Feliciano looked down to the three miniscule injuries; but due to his current state…his body could no longer tolerate any more stress or hurt and he collapsed.

Spain and Prussia ran to the fallen comrades as soon as the ghosts had dissipated once more, the Spaniard bringing the Italian onto his lap, and Prussia bringing his Bruder onto his lap.

"G-Germany…" Italy squeaked; his tanned skin now pale as he lost blood; his health continuing to deteriorate.

"J-Ja Italy?" The blond German slowly turned his head, his blue irises fixating onto the Italian beside him.

"…I'm happy…" Italy's chapped lips revealed his usual smile, though it was only slight.

"Mi amigo! How can you be happy? You're dying!" Spain cried, his eyes becoming wet with more tears.

"Because…I get to see grande fratello and Grandpa Rome again…" Italy hid his amber irises as his eyelids shut, "Romano…I want to see him." The Italian's eyes quickly opened as he felt something gently brush against his soft cheek.

"Italy…even if you don't find Romano…I'll be there to protect you. Ja?" Germany spoke, a small curve forming on his lips, as he gently ran the back of his finger over Italy's cheek.

Feliciano giggled softly and gently moved, with some help from Antonio, closer to Germany; before holding up his pinkie finger. "Promise?"

Germany nodded in response, and brought his pinkie up too; linking it with the Italian's. "I promise you this Italy." He struggled to do so, but with some aid from Prussia, Germany had put his arm around the Italian and held him close to his chest, running his broad fingers through the honey-brown locks. "Ich liebe dich Feliciano…~" The blond German whispered.

"Ve~ Ti amo Ludwig…~" Feliciano responded in the same hushed tone.

And so, with their pinkie fingers entwined, their lives disappeared and the hearts of Germany and Italy seized to beat any longer.

Prussia couldn't hold back any more… he began to weep. He'd lost four people who were extremely close to him: Canada, France, Germany, and Italy. The albino leant down and pressed his forehead to Germany's, his tears falling onto the younger German's cold cheeks.

Spain hung his head low, gritting his teeth as he tried not to cry. He agreed that Italy and Germany would at least be together. Italy would find Romano and his grandfather…that thought alone made the Spaniard believe, his lips curling into a watery smile. "Romano, please…protect Italy and Germany."

"Guten nacht, mein Bruders…Ludwig und Feliciano." Prussia spoke in his native tongue, his tears continuing to fall. The Prussian and Spaniard raised their heads; both repeating a motion they had done before: placing the blond German and the young Italian's uniform jackets over their upper bodies.

England's eyes narrowed before he turned away, his dark voice cut through the atmosphere once again. "Let's go… we need to avenge our fellow Nations…"

England kept his place at the front, the Prussian and Spaniard stayed with one another, silent as they contemplated what had occurred. So many of them had died…if they hadn't have found this castle; everyone would still be alive.

The small Japanese male was now on his own, after losing his comrades, and the person who raised him, he was quieter than ever; and he was very quiet to begin with!

The once boisterous American had now become more reserved, it kind of frightened everyone…however nothing could be done about the lives that had been lost. What England said before was right, they had to try and avenge them, by escaping the dark confines of this Hell.

Hungary and Austria walked side by side, the girl's hands clasped in front of her, as her shoulders were slumped; her head bowed.

"Elizabeta…there is no reason to be so down. Of course, losing everyone is difficult, but we need to stay strong." The Austrian cut through the quiet atmosphere like a knife; the Hungarian looked up at him with sad eyes, slightly bloodshot from the tears she had been holding back.

"I know, Mr Austria…But it just hurts knowing that so many of us have gone…There are only us eleven left…" Elizabeta raised her hands so they were crossed over her heart, her grip tightened on her dress as if she wanted to cease her heartache. "I…I just…" Her voice halted in her throat when she felt a gentle hand be placed on her shoulder. Through glossed eyes, she saw Austria looking at her with a soft, reassuring smile.

"You don't have to say anymore. It's alright." He moved his hand to take hers, intertwining their fingers, "We'll make it out of here."

A light pink blush spread across the Hungarian's cheeks, she smiled brightly back at the Austrian, her green eyes sparkling with new hope…hope that, probably, would not last.

The remaining Nations continued to venture through the treacherous hallways, the sounds of subtle scratching and a biting wind hit their bodies, causing them to momentarily freeze in place, out of fear and the harsh cold.

Switzerland kept a revolver in his hand at all times, keeping his index finger on the trigger, after Liechtenstein's death, he knew he had to protect the others…to keep her happy. That's all she would want him to do…rather than reminisce on the past.

"Mr Austria, we need to help Switzerland in one way or another. After Miss Liechtenstein's death, he's become more isolated than ever." Hungary spoke, her voice trembling with concern.

"I don't think he'd really want to talk to me. After all he hates my guts…I'm not entirely sure if he'd want to discuss such matters with me, despite our past." Austria sighed, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

Elizabeta also sighed, but kept walking beside Roderich.

Switzerland and England soon stopped dead in their tracks, "Do you hear that?" The distinct English accent echoed in the darkness.

They looked behind them, but saw nothing.

What was going on?

"We need to move, now." England ordered, with a frightened America clinging to his back, whimpering at the sounds.

"A-Artie! W-Where do we go now?!" The American cried, trembling as he stayed close to the Briton.

"It's Arthur, you bloody wanker." England sighed in exasperation at the American.

"I-It's scary…c-can we just get out of here?" He clung to his former brother.

"We're trying. Get off me and we'll be able to get out of here faster." Arthur looked into Alfred's sapphire irises, "I promise I won't let anyone harm you Alfred."

"Pinkie promise?" The American brought his hand up, offering his little finger to England.

"Pinkie promise~" The Englishman smiled as he linked his own finger with America's.

But, the bright atmosphere, again, did not last…

"Run for it!" Switzerland cried as he held up an assault rifle, aiming for the ominous spectres, as they dashed down the hallway at the Nations yet again.

Everyone listened to the Swiss' words and began to run down the hallway.

"Does this ever stop?!" Prussia yelled, getting extremely agitated with the ghosts' presence… he thought his 'awesomeness' would scare the ghosts away… yeah, not happening.

Britain held America's wrist tight as they ran, "Everyone, keep moving! No one else's lives can be lost! We need to protect the Earth!" Truthfully, England was just ranting some useless shit to keep everyone motivated, despite some weird glares from Switzerland, Austria and Prussia, they all listened and tried to keep going.

"A musician… cannot run for this long...!" Austria panted, his cheeks flushed a light pink from the excessive exercise; I'll tell you one thing, those who survive this are gonna' have shed a huge amount of weight.

"Keep going Mr. Austria, we'll make it!" Hungary panicked, taking the Austrian's hand in her own and running quickly, holding the skirt of her dress up slightly with her other hand.

Something was going to go wrong…and sure enough it did.

Spain's ghost threw a dagger to the British spectre, his face clouded with hatred and loathing. Unfortunately, it missed its target completely and the blade was instead heading for Austria.

"AUSTRIA!" A familiar voice broke the already tense atmosphere with the cry of said Nation.

The Austrian was pushed out of the way violently by the one who had called, he would have fallen over if Switzerland hadn't been in the way…but due to the Swiss male's despise of the Austrian; he dropped him anyway. Unfortunately, someone had to pay the ultimate price…

Elizabeta panted softly…a hand on her stomach. The other Nations stared in fear, she took the blow, to protect Austria? The Hungarian fell to her knees and coughed softly, a thin trail of blood escaping her lips, running down and dripping off her chin.

Roderich gasped as he saw the Hungarian on the floor, he scrambled to his feet and dashed to her side; the usually unemotional Austrian's eyes glossed over with the overflowing tears. "Hungary…why…WHY?" His voice was disjointed and panicked as he tried to help the girl, attempting to pull the corroded blade from her stomach as gently as possible; she winced and grunted as a dull pain shot through her torso as the blade scraped the sides of the wound.

Hungary simply looked up at Austria, running the tip of her index finger under his eyes, drying his tears, "Don't cry Mr Austria, you'll not be able to see through your glasses." A soft, playful smile formed on her lips, which seemed damaged as they were chapped and stained red with blood.

But, Roderich could not hold his tears back, he had to let them fall, he would worry about his dignity later…especially from the roasting he was going to get from the Vash. He joined his hand with Elizabeta's, holding it tight, he brought up the weak and cold hand and kissed the back of it tenderly, his lips softly brushing against her knuckles.

"Austria…I want you to promise me something. Can you do that for me..?" Elizabeta's voice, one usually so full of happiness and life now tired and hoarse, echoed through the quiet atmosphere. The other Nations stood silently as they watched the Austrian and Hungarian share her final moments.

"What is it? I'll do a-anything…Elizabeta, you can't die… you simply ca-!

"Roderich. There is nothing you can do. I've done my duty…" She cut him off by placing an ice cold hand on his cheek, her voice fading as her life slowly drained.

"What duty?! What are you saying?"

"I wanted to protect you until I died… and now, this is happening. I have protected you…And I'm happy to have done so."

"Elizabeta…" Austria's voice cracked as the tears became too much, he pulled the girl close to his chest, cradling her as he wept.

"Mr Austri—no, Roderich. I have one more thing to say to you." The Austrian gazed into Hungary's eyes, the usual bright green dulling as her life dissipated, he nodded gently and listened intently, too broken to speak. "I…I love you."

Roderich's heart stopped, the acknowledgement of Elizabeta's feeling, finally tore at his heart, ripping the seams apart, waterfalls cascaded down his cheeks as he held the woman close, "I love you too…"

No response.

"Elizabeta?" Austria looked down and saw her eyes had closed, small gatherings of tears at the corners of her eyes. She had not heard him reply…or maybe…she did? The Hungarian's pale lips had formed a soft smile.

The usually stern and expressionless Austrian was now in a fit of tears, he could not hold back anymore with his beloved, dead in his arms.

Elizabeta, the nation of Hungary, had lost her life in defending her precious Roderich Edelstein, the nation of Austria. She was truly strong as she played her part as Defence against the Reaper.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_

I know these chapters are probably getting super repetitive by now, but it's all part of the story. I guess the good part is thinking about who's going to go next!

Also, I had a question from someone about this story, stating that Nations can't die. All will be revealed shortly as to why the Nations _can_ die in this story. I mean, there's an idea, but I have a feeling it won't be satisfactory, so I may edit it. Or I'll post two endings and we'll see which one people prefer!

Thank you all for reading! See you next week!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Seven: Silent Atmosphere

The Austrian's features had fallen, no smile had existed on his lips since the Hungarian's death…the Swiss male understood how he felt, but would not offer any consolation because he hated Austria's guts with a passion.

"Switzerland, like, don't be such a meanie. Austria needs to be comforted right now, quit acting like the neutral jerk you are and help him for once." Poland complained, his lips formed a pout and his green eyes dark with anger at the Swiss' lack of action.

"It's not like I care! Austria and I don't speak, so there is no point in me even trying." Switzerland scowled and marched ahead of the other blond, who sighed in a huff and dashed after him, grasping his wrist tightly. "What are you doing?! Let g-"

"He tried to help _you_ when Liechtenstein died right?! So, help _him_ for once!" Feliks scolded, he was right, and Switzerland knew it…but Vash couldn't bring himself to speak to the Austrian, he was afraid he'd say the wrong thing. He was never very good at comforting anyone; that included Liechtenstein.

"I understand where you're coming from Feliks…but no. I'm not going to say anything." Vash closed his eyes, swiped his hand away, and walked off without another word.

The Polish male looked to the smaller Latvian and sighed, "He really needs to, like, lighten up." Raivis nodded in agreement with the Polish male, he was happy to have any form of comfort when Lithuania and Estonia died. His little aquamarine irises sparkled as tears built up, however this halted when the man with violet irises scooped the Latvian into his arms, Raivis shivered in Ivan's hold and held back his tears.

The blond Briton looked back to the lone Japanese male, who had his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He gently patted the dark-haired male's back comfortingly, "I know this may seem a little cliché Kiku, but everything will get better. We'll be out of here soon."

"Arigatō England-San, but…that may take a little time." The other male spoke softly, his voice, once again, monotone. Arthur hated seeing anyone this down, particularly Japan and America; they were his closest friends and America had been his little brother.

"Just stay strong, my friend. We'll escape, I promise." Arthur's emerald irises sparkled as he consoled his friend. The shorter Japanese male returned the gaze to his British ally and smiled softly in thanks.

After a few moments, the Briton halted and looked around cautiously. His green eyes wide with panic and worry. "What..?"

"Brit?" A familiar American voice called to the blond, "You okay back there?"

"I… I thought I heard something…" He shivered slightly then jumped as he felt something tap his shoulder, he turned and his panicked expression changed into one of joy and relief. "Flying Mint Bunny! What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you Britain! Brownie and I were worried when you hadn't come back after a while." The mint green bunny squeaked softly. Arthur smiled brightly and petted his small pixie friend…although it seemed to the others that he was petting thin air.

"That dude…seriously needs to see a doctor." America face palmed, after removing his glasses from his face. The others all looked at one another in utter confusion, the Swiss male readied a gun in case he got too crazy. The blue-eyed American turned to Vash, raising a hand to signal that he did not need to shoot; that England typically had a moment like this, at least once a week. Arthur continued conversing with his magical friends; but they soon disappeared, and he turned around to the other members of the group.

"W-Why are you all looking at me like you've seen a ghost?" England chuckled, his eyes sparkling slightly. Everyone sighed, and continued to walk, passing the Briton. He glanced to the group once more, then pouted in annoyance. How dare they dismiss him; he was the Great British Empire… After a moment's counting and realization, he turned once more, noticing Japan standing perfectly stagnant, his head hung low, his raven hair obscuring his delicate features.

"Japan? Come on, we need to get going…" He stepped toward his ally, but his eyes widened as he recognised a shadow looming behind the Asian male. The shadow turned slightly, revealing a devilish smile, and haunting green eyes. But caution soon replaced the sadistic expression, as the spectre jumped out of the way. England tried to call out to Japan to move, but he was too late. The Spanish spectre had grabbed Japan's face in a gloved hand, before swiping a blade across his throat.

Japan's hazel eyes were wide; his lips parted, but no sound left them. Blood cascaded from the wound, staining his pristine, white uniform, and the stone floor. The spectres continued to fight, taking no heed of the sin they had just committed; leaving their victim to fall to the ground, catching the attention of everyone else. Gasps and cries echoed through the corridor.

The spirits turned a glare to England, grinning darkly, and muttered something incomprehensible, but Arthur's eyes widened in fear… That explained everything; he and a few others had been questioning this since they had gotten there.

As soon as strong arms pulled England close, the ghosts disappeared. A familiar voice was calling to Britain, trying to snap him out of his trance. The Briton's green eyes soon focused on a concerned America, his blue eyes clouded with worry for him, and grief at losing Japan.

"Britain, dude! Snap out of it, you're creeping me out!" He cried, shaking Arthur forcefully. The addressed blinked and looked around in confusion, before burying himself into the other's shoulder, gripping his bomber jacket, until his knuckles turned white. Consolation reached his ears, as America muttered words to him.

Switzerland tended to Japan, kneeling to see what had happened. Soon, England was calm, and he turned to see his comrade on the ground. He stepped toward him; studying the wound, and Japan's expression. One of peace, yet pain crossed the Japanese male's face, a small streak of blood ran down his cheek from his mouth, and his eyes were partially open, dull and lifeless. The wound across his neck ran deep, severing a major artery, hence the instantaneous death.

England knelt to him, carefully shutting his eyes with trembling hands, and muttering a final goodbye. He stayed where he was for a few moments, tears running down his face; he wasn't aware that he was crying, but right now all he could focus on was Japan.

However, a yelp caused Britain to hastily escape his daze; turning around to see Latvia struggling to stand up straight. His legs trembled underneath him; miniscule droplets of blood splashing on the floor. The Baltic nation slowly turned around, revealing three knives embedded in his torso: one in his shoulder, another in his chest, and the third in his stomach.

The spectres dashed past, knocking Raivis to the ground; nothing more than a grunt of pain escaping him. He panted softly, before Poland had sunk down beside him, pulling him into his lap; tears fell from his green eyes, rebounding off the Latvian's pale cheeks.

Pirate England turned to his current self, grinning fiendishly once more, before mouthing "It's all your fault…" Then dashing away again, after the Spaniard's former self.

"Raivis! Everything will be okay! You'll be, like, fine!" Feliks panicked; he had lost practically everyone, all in the space of a few hours. He cradled Latvia close, nuzzling his face in the other's curly, blond locks.

"I'll… I'll see Lithuania and Estonia again, and I'll get away from big, meanie Russia…" Latvia spoke up, causing the larger nation to grit his teeth in slight anger; his purple aura causing a disturbance in the corridor. However, his words were the least of Raivis' problems, his eyes already began to lose their sparkle.

"Y-You're, like, right…! You'll see Liet, and Estonia again… keep them safe for me, please?" Feliks spoke up, the other blond nodding definitively, a soft smile on his youthful face. His blue eyes darkened even more, before his life slipped away from him in its entirety.

"We need to get out… Now!" England cried out, getting up, and marching down the corridor. It was evident to everyone that he was panicked; yet no one had seen him so riled up before, it was odd. America chased after the Briton, closely followed by the others.

After a few minutes walking, Switzerland spoke up. "I-Isn't that the door that we came through…?!" Excitement and relief was evident in his voice; but Russia turned to meet his gaze.

"We thought we had found the door numerous times during our stay here, but none of them were true. It simply led to a comrade's death. But, if you wish to try it, and risk another life, then be my guest," he chuckled grimly, a menacing smile on his face.

"We have to give it a chance; this area does feel very familiar, we should be able to escape now, finally!" England called, dashing off without waiting for anyone else.

America gasped, and closely followed behind the Briton; the others also caught up.

The corridor appeared to last forever, the Nations were exhausted from all that had occurred; all they wanted was to be home, and for all this to be a dream. A familiar laugh echoed through the stone hallway; they all glanced over their shoulders, recognising the spectres one more time.

"Quickly, everyone, we need to get out!" England yelled, taking control.

Gunshots.

A cry of pain.

Austria's body crumpled to the ground, his back littered with bullet-holes; but the shots continued to ricochet against the walls, narrowly missing everyone else. They had no time to lose, they couldn't say goodbye to their fallen comrade; they needed to escape!

The final run had begun; everyone was dashing for their lives. Three more had been lost, but the remaining seven Nations were determined to ensure that their deaths were not in vain.

* * *

 _ **Author's note:**_

Apologies for a late chapter again! This was the first chapter for this story that I had to write entirely from scratch, and details from my planned plot were very minimal, hence the quick scene changes and lack of explanation in areas.

There are around two more chapters of the whole story; however, the ending, I feel, may not make some of you happy. So, I will be writing two endings: the first being the ending I intended when I first came up with this story, and the other being an ending, perhaps, more fitting to the whole story. Then I'll let you decide which ending you prefer as the readers!

Thank you so much for reading everyone! Three weeks left on Lower Your Ghostly Sword, then perhaps updates on Finding His Queen will become more frequent since it's the only one I'll be working on, once this is finished. See you next week!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Eight: Message in Blood

"Keep moving! We're almost there!" Britain called out, his green eyes shining with panic, fear, and anger. The spectres had taken too many of them, they were weak if they needed to fight. That was why they all simply ran; there was no way they were going to defeat ghosts, no matter how many people they had.

He remembered what the Pirate spectre of himself had said when Japan died, causing sweat to bead on his forehead, and make his blood run cold. 'In here…you are nothing but a mortal. Your Nation powers will not work in here; hence why so many of you have died.'

It made so much sense! They were all so panicked about finding a way out, and protecting their loved ones, that no one seemed to question why they, as Nations, were able to die. Pirate England had confirmed suspicions that England had been questioning since Lithuania died; in this castle, there was no chance of survival. No immortality. No regeneration. You were not a Nation; you were a human.

The realisation made Arthur tremble, almost losing his footing, but he was recovered by a pair of strong hands; undeniably, America had helped him regain his balance, running alongside him, almost in sync.

"Brit! Don't lose your head! We're gonna' get out; then you can hang with all your magic friends, right?" His blue eyes shone with determination, and strength; a will to survive. Arthur reflexively nodded and grabbed America's hand, continuing to run with him. They were around ten metres away from the door, until a cry.

America reflexively turned around, realising that Britain's hand had slipped from his clutch. The green-eyed male was in the clutches of his spectre self; he wriggled, squirmed, and tried to wrench himself free. But, his captor held him tight in his clutches.

"Let him go! We've done nothing to hurt you; yet all you've done is take those we love away from us!" America cried, baring his teeth, gritting them tightly; he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

"You appear to forget that the Frog's death was caused by your own precious Britain…" The spectre laughed darkly, noticing how his prisoner tensed in his hold. Arthur's eyes had widened, and focused on the floor; he trembled at the memory of France's face, tinted with a violet hue, from where he had strangled him with his own hands.

"They've also forgotten how they trespassed on our premises… I mean, we've been fighting in this castle, every so often, over the past hundred years or so," the Spaniard Captain spoke up, placing his hand onto the hilt of his cutlass. "We had no warning; therefore, you are trespassers! And we don't give any mercy to those who trespass!" The spectre of England nodded in agreement; despite all the fights that the Nations had seen between the two ghosts, the remaining seven were surprised to see them agree on something for a change.

America stepped forward, reaching to Britain, "Please… we didn't mean any harm! W-We were only here to explore, nothing more. We had no intention of removing anything from its rightful place; please, just let Artie go-!" He was then struck by the English pirate, knocking him aside, making the American clutch his cheek.

Emerald eyes glistened with anger, "Not a chance in hell! He appears to be your ringleader! We're going to enjoy this and kill him slowly…" This caused Britain to tense, his eyes growing wide with panic, he turned his gaze to meet with his other self. "What do you think, Antonio? Break his fingers first?"

The Spaniard pirate nodded, a sadistic smile on his face; "Vicariously, when you hurt him, you're hurting yourself, which is a very good idea to me, since I hate you…" A dark chuckle left his throat, which frightened the modern-day Spain to his very core.

Arthur whimpered and trembled in his captor's hold, trying desperately to escape, but his hand was grasped, tension grew in his index finger as it was being tugged at. He yelled out loud as his finger escaped its socket; this caused his hands to shake with incredible pain. The male was beginning to sink to his knees, gritting his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in an expression that only showed pain and torture.

America, being the Hero, tried to steady himself, shaken at the other's piercing scream. He clenched his fists, dashing towards his comrade, with the backup of Switzerland and Prussia. The Spanish spectre lashed out at them, but the Nations' speed and stamina didn't let them down; the German-speakers kept the Spaniard distracted, whilst America continued to dash to Britain.

He grabbed at the spectre's arm, despite being translucent they had some physicality, tugging at it to free his comrade. The Pirate growled, grabbing a dagger from his weapons belt, and thrust it into the American's shoulder. A cry of pain left his mouth, as well as a cry of terror from Arthur, but he tried to push the pain aside, concentrating on Britain's freedom. He grasped the spectre again, digging his nails into his arm, trying to forcefully pull Britain out.

The Pirate raised a hand, but Arthur managed to escape… however, not without consequence. The Briton and American toppled to the ground; Arthur lying diagonally across Alfred, his head on the other's shoulder. Alfred sighed in relief, reaching round to comfort the Briton, but his blue eyes widened as he felt moisture on the other's shirt. Hesitantly, Alfred pulled his hand away, shaking intensely, realising that a ruby fluid had stained his sun-kissed skin. Arthur's ragged coughing brought Alfred out of his trance, as he quickly lifted Arthur off him, in a panic, and glanced down at him. He noticed five stab wounds in the other's torso, blood dribbling down Arthur's face in the most unattractive manner.

"N-No…-! Britain! Y-Ya' can't die on me, man!" Alfred yelled, agony and dread evident in his voice. It was odd, normally it would be a boisterous laugh, or bright exclamation, that would leave his lips; but not this time. The American clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white, blood seeping through the miniscule wounds his nails made in his palms, as he rested his face against the Briton's chest; clearly distraught.

A shaky, yet kind touch was felt on his shoulder and the back of his head, blood sinking into Alfred's golden locks, but right now he didn't care. He glanced up, sapphire irises obscured by the overflowing tears.

"It's alright, Alfred… You've done your best. Just get everyone else out…" Arthur coughed, but the smile refused to leave his face as he spoke to Alfred.

"D-Dude! I can't leave you here, not a chance! I've lost Mattie, and Lithuania… I can't lose you too, please Britain!" He sobbed, lifting Arthur up, removing the knives from Arthur's back, causing the British male to writhe in pain. The American apologised continuously, still weeping, and cradling the Briton to his chest, rocking him carefully. "Don't leave me alone…"

Arthur laughed, "How ironic… concerning you were the one who wanted to leave me in the first place… back in 1776…" A certain fondness, tainted with slight sadness, crossed his face as he relived memories of the Revolutionary War. The American stiffened at the other's words, looking down at him with a pained expression.

"I said I'm sorry about that… can you drop it…" Alfred pouted, unamused by what the Briton had said. "Arthur… there's just one thing I have to say. I promise, that I will protect your country, as much as I protect mine. You're so special to me, that I can't bear the thought of losing you now… You're my hero; you always have been!"

The American was suddenly calmed, by Britain's hands cupping his face. "Alfred… It's alright. Thank you for looking after my people, in advance." He carefully pulled the other toward him, blushing softly as their lips met in a soft, tender embrace. Although, this moment was not exactly how Arthur had initially envisioned it; this would suffice. If Alfred knew how he really felt; Arthur felt peaceful and had no more regrets in the world. "I love you, Alfred F. Jones… I always have done…" A soft chuckle left his throat, it was dry, and rasping, as his life began to disappear.

Alfred's eyes widened, and he pulled Arthur close to him, feeling the other's hands rest against his arm. "I love you too… Arthur Kirkland… I love you!"

The five spectating Nations hung their heads in pity, remorse, and sorrow for another fallen comrade. Prussia and Spain were relying on one another for comfort, since they had lost practically everyone they cared for. Russia and Poland also sought support from one another, surprisingly, since Poland didn't favour the Russian all that much. Switzerland remained solo, neutral, just how he liked it, but he turned his glance to focus on the Austrian's body, gritting his teeth; he was all alone, despite not getting on with Roderich very much, he'd miss him dearly.

"Now, Alfred… no more tears. Run… escape. Live your life to the best of your ability, you understand me?" Arthur pleaded, nuzzling his face against the soft cloth of Alfred's shirt. He was getting weaker, and the American noticed, his grip tightening on the other.

"A-Alright, Britain… but one more thi-!" Alfred looked down to Arthur, but his eyes were shut, his lips slightly parted, his pale skin seemed to go white. He rested a hand on Arthur's cheek, turning his face to look at him; when he realised that he wasn't responding, Alfred grit his teeth, stifling more tears. Some slipped past, splashing against the lenses of his glasses, and against Arthur's cheek, mingling with the blood that had leaked from the corner of his mouth. "Rest peacefully, Arthur… You're safe now…"

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_

Writing this chapter killed me! As you can probably tell USUK is an OTP of mine, and England is my favourite character; I am British after all!

Well, this concludes the main body of the story. However, over the next two weeks, I will put out two different endings to this story; the one I had initially planned, and another that I came up with while writing this story now. You guys can choose which one you prefer!

Thank you everybody so much for reading, your support, and lovely reviews!

See you next week, for the first finale!


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